


Lover's Gambit

by Lacerta



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Chess Master Bucky Barnes, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Pining Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta/pseuds/Lacerta
Summary: “What’s your favourite chess move?” the man asks suddenly, not at all minding that his clock is ticking, or that the voices in the back grow louder.“What?”Is Costello trying to distract him from the game with small talk? Conversations aren’tforbiddenby the rules, but they’re not common; they’re considered ungentlemanly when used to detract the opponent. On the other hand, Costello doesn’t seem to pay too much attention to the social norms; this much is clear.Oblivious to Bucky’s internal alarm, Costello carries on. “I came up with a chess move of my own, you know? I think I’ll call it a lover’s gambit. Do you think it will catch on?”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	Lover's Gambit

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Gambit kochanka](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28632480) by [Lacerta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta/pseuds/Lacerta)



> Prompted by a tumblr post by romcommunist:  
>  _invented a chess opening called the lover's gambit where you toss the pieces aside and start kissing your opponent on the table_
> 
> Chess players need to stay in freakishly good shape, did you know they can burn up to 6k calories a day during a tournament? It's wild. And impressive. Wildly impressive!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't know a single thing about chess tournaments in real life, and the last time I played chess was when I took classes in primary school. I hope I didn't mess it up too much. ^^
> 
> Beta'd by the amazing veryrachael~! <3

Bucky Barnes doesn’t have enough fingers to count how many times he’s faced flippant comments claiming that a local tournament must be child’s play for a chess master like him – and not just because he lost his left arm in an awful accident.

Bucky can’t deny that the level of most players [at these tournaments] is much lower than that of the high-ranking masters he’s played against in the past, but a small tournament comes with a set of challenges of its own. There’s still a lot of pressure on Bucky, the kind that it’s easy to overlook. Losing to a random local player could make someone a star, but cost a chess master his career.

But that isn’t what Bucky dreads most whenever he has to go outside of his comfort zone to gain enough points to officially qualify for the championships. He knows how to deal with pressure; he has to. What he’s never fully prepared for is the  _ people _ .

The high-stakes competitions are crowded, with participants, fans and the media. There are sudden camera flashes throughout the day (Bucky still despises them, even after they finally stopped triggering his panic attacks), and the constant hum of the excited onlookers and the live commentary are always a given. All that doesn’t bother Bucky  _ that _ much, in comparison. The locals, however…

They seem to have no concept of personal space, they don't understand that real chess requires  _ focus _ , and they seem  _ thrilled _ to ask Bucky the dumbest questions. What is his favourite chess piece? Does he carry a lucky charm? What is his favourite pre-tournament meal?

All of those questions are stupid, but the last one’s additionally upsetting: being a chess master isn’t just about knowing how to play. It requires a lot of dedication, including a strict fitness regime and a carefully planned diet. No excuses. If he’s to stay focused for the duration of the whole game – and those can sometimes last  _ hours _ – for the whole tournament, he needs to be in perfect shape, both physically and mentally. Truth is, after months of draconian preparations, he always misses Steve’s greasy casserole like crazy.

It’s a relief when the whole affair is coming to an end. There is just one final game to play, and he can scram right after. By now, the press must be used to him disappearing before they can catch him for an interview. The game itself, that he can do: it’s easy to lose himself in the smooth movements of the pieces and the black-and-white squares of the board. Nothing else matters when he plays.

He only vaguely knows of Costello, the player who he’s about to face in the final; he’s never played him before, but he’s heard the man’s decent, at least. The good rep means Bucky is surprised when it’s time and the man doesn’t show. Bucky plays white, so when the clock’s started, he moves the pawn and taps the clock; in the end, the only one that stands to lose is the other guy, not him. He props his chin on his right hand and sets to wait.

The clock shows it’s almost a quarter of an hour later before the man shows. He practically  _ skips _ to the table and when he sits down, he flashes Bucky a wide grin.

“Mr Barnes,” he chirps in greeting, reaching across the board to offer his hand. Bucky shakes it on autopilot, wondering if the man’s high. He seems  _ too _ cheerful for it to be his natural state of mind. “Delighted to meet you in person.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say to this strange man, fairly handsome but with the most atrocious moustache Bucky’s seen around. After an awkward pause he settles for a soft grunt. Costello doesn’t seem to mind. He leans on the table and, with a pleased hum, moves his pawn. He looks at Bucky.

And waits.

Bucky waits as well, staring into the man’s eyes. With every passing second his brows rise further up, until he can’t move them any higher. He sighs heavily.

In one smooth move he taps the man’s side of the clock, moves his own piece and switches the clock back.

“Oh,” Costello breathes, looking abashed for a brief second, before his confident, excited grin comes back.

The man moves fast. His eyes are sharp, but he seems to spend more time watching Bucky than the board. The scrutiny should by all rights be distressing; it isn’t. Maybe it’s the chess board between them that calms Bucky’s nerves; maybe it’s the baffling behaviour of this strange man who got through to the final but plays as if he’s never learned more than how each piece moves.

“You’re playing white. Less embarrassing for me when you win, eh?” Costello jokes when Bucky takes his bishop. It’s a lame joke, but Bucky smirks at the ridiculousness of it all.

The man makes a note on a piece of paper by his side. It’s no longer a necessary accessory at the tournaments, but it’s customary in most places to supply paper and pencils to the players. Bucky wonders what he wrote there; if Costello’s playing style is anything to judge by, he’s not the one to make complex strategies.

Bucky takes a few more black pieces. Costello smiles brightly when he takes the white pawn – the first piece Bucky’s sacrificed – until he realises it was an almost too-easy ploy to get to Costello’s queen. It’s a rookie mistake, so when there’s a commotion at the edge of the crowd, Bucky already knows something must be up.

“What’s your favourite chess move?” the man asks suddenly, not at all minding that his clock is ticking, or that the voices in the back grow louder.

“What?”

Is Costello trying to distract him from the game with small talk? Conversations aren’t  _ forbidden _ by the rules, but they’re not common; they’re considered ungentlemanly when used to detract the opponent. On the other hand, Costello doesn’t seem to pay too much attention to the social norms; this much is clear.

“The strategies, they’re fascinating. You watch a player move the pieces purposefully, and even if you don’t know what the purpose  _ is _ yet, you can tell that it’s  _ there _ .” Bucky’s eyes widens almost comically, he’s sure of it, and he glances down at the board at these ominous words. Is he missing something? Is there a strategy in play that he’s not aware of? It  _ feels  _ improbable. But is it?

Apparently oblivious to Bucky’s internal alarm, Costello carries on. “I came up with a chess move of my own, you know? I think I’ll call it a lover’s gambit. Do you think it will catch on?”

Bucky blinks at him. He’s not a great conversationalist on his best days, but this man confuses him and wipes his mind clear of even the simplest words.

Costello smiles at him even wider. He leans forward.

Bucky blinks and tilts his head. He realises that he’s leaned forward, too.

The commotion in the crowd reaches the front row. There’s someone forcing their way through, but Bucky doesn’t look away from this strange, fascinating, baffling man to see what’s happening. He doesn’t have to, because a voice, full of authority, calls out, “Sir, step away from the board!”

Bucky wants to ask the security guard for explanation, but as he opens his mouth, Costello stands up with a sheepish shrug, puts his hands on the board for support, sending the pieces scattering to the sides, and–

Kisses him.

He’s an objectively good kisser, and Bucky finds himself kissing him back before he realises what he’s doing.

Then, Costello is jerked back. He’s held by two guards; he doesn’t struggle, and he doesn’t look bothered by it either. He looks even more handsome now. For a moment Bucky thinks it’s a peculiar, silly side-effect of having kissed the guy, but then he glances down and notices the awful – and awfully fake – moustache lying on the black-and-white board, right next to the fallen white king.

When Bucky looks up, security is dragging the man – he’s not Costello, is he? – towards the exit. Bucky stands up; he doesn’t know why. He’s not going to follow the man, and he doesn’t know if he’ll have to stay for a proper game, but he’s on his feet before all that registers.

The crowd is loud, and yet the man’s call carries easily over the noise.

“Call me?”

It’s confounding, as is everything about this stranger. If he wanted Bucky to call him, he should’ve at least left his number, shouldn’t he?

Or has he?

He looks down at the piece of paper that miraculously stayed on top of the table, surrounded by the scattered chess pieces. He sees a string of numbers, jotted down in the kind of handwriting that comes out when someone is making an effort to keep it legible, and a name.

_ Clint _

As the anxious organizers fret around him and apologise profoundly for the disastrous mishap, Bucky nods along, says a few polite phrases and makes sure to turn their attention away from where he’s tucking the piece of paper inside his pocket.

Bucky’s always had a soft spot for daring, innovative chess strategies. He can’t be blamed for wanting to see the kind of moves this lover’s gambit leads to, can he?

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, and I swear they evolve into extra inspiration <3


End file.
